ROCKET
rocket
sprocket
in your pocket
so this is the social benefit
of billionaires
of wealth creation
the utter beatitude
bounteous bounty
pushing the boundaries
of masculine sexuality
through
the ceiling
right through the shitosophere
out into the absolute zero
of everything held dear
MEANWHILE
meanwhile
above the clouds
the Lolita Express
is banking
descending
is like an aeroplane
in a children’s story
inspiring thoughts of
magic and
mystery
and exciting destinations
full of memorable
characters, exotic beings
the speed of this jet
being quite impressive
you think you have
left that
shadowy raptor, harpy
that goes by
the name
of nothing
is the embodiment of
nothing
in its tracks, empty-
clawed, struggling
far behind
today it
missed its pray
the sneakiness of it all
just too much.
for it
existential disappointment
in its eye
as bleak as pure abyss
back to
Noam and Ali
after
so much
meanwhile
only two options
the man
is an idiot
confusing the meaning
of bilingual and bi-
sexual
(purely on the hidden
sexual punning
sounds of
language)
we have
the philosopher maestro
of linguistics
juxtaposed
with this hip hop
moron who
doesn’t
know right
from left
unless
the joke
is on you and for
all your acumen
you took this
covert killer master-
satirist
at face value
did not
see his
failure to
find and comprehend as
radical sign
beyond itself
leaving you
a bit denuded, stripped
of all
presumed acumen
an empty vessel when
nuance
called for
meanwhile
the jury was out
but is now
returning
let me see any, if any,
Chomsky satire,
Chomsky comedy
any of the resonant poetry Chomsky wrote
can recite
to end this thing with
less
nihilistic bite
as the Lolita Express
comes in to land
GENERATIONAL TRANSFORMATIONS
when I first
heard you were
in those files
I thought I must
have misheard
your name
being mentioned – –
how the Hell
could it have
turned up
there, Wow! WTF,
I mean
there but for the grace
of God, how
can it be
go figure!
unless
it was just a typo
or a mess up
in the transformational
generative grammar
as it maps
the deep structure into
the surface syntax
garbling everything we
near universally agreed
you (dear emeritus
professor)
felt in your heart
of hearts,
did most radically think and believe
JESTER
I suppose you would argue
from your position
of superiority
that it still counts
as camouflage
yet boots or jacket
forged from this skin
would hardly set the pace
in Milan
or Paris
too much commedia del arte
it would reek of
to flaunt
such “jester leather”
and yet, in our version
of this seminal tale, this
is, indeed the serpent’s livery
which I might hazard
an explanation, which being,
life pre-
lapsarian
bound to be at
this point quite immune
to selection, evolution
and need for decisive tactical
advantage
in the species survival race
yes
at this stage
dressed to jest
as jester
than ambush
as ambush predator
though theology may see
clear ambush here
this
trickster of tricksters
first stand-
up comedian
sidling up, telling a few jokes.
spinning a few yarns
getting
our first Mother, first
Father,
convulsed with laughter,
linguisticaly impressed, to
much
forget themselves
gorge themselves on fruit
whose prohibitedness was
and was to
remain forever, technically safe
and yet for so
many
completely banned,
its consumption unforgivable
worse than eating the fruit
it has always been claimed they did
that giving the knowledge
of good
and evil
this simply giving us
the, revelation of
our own
absurdity
paralleling, mirroring
the cosmos in its sense
that
there is only absurdity
all is absurdity
opening up our species
to the horrors of
comedy
and laughter itself.
DEEP STRUCTURE
and suddenly, totally
unexpectedly
I fell into a poem
talking of manufacturing
consent for a
“great artist” and
the deep
structure of
irony
thinking of you
too excited for words
flying to that island
that
great M.I.T. brain
up in the clouds
eliding
your Kubrick
redacting
your Nabokov
soon to be
there with Woody
playing it again
and the gods of satire
drooling at the
thought of
the fall
from great grace
into their
realm of scruffy
syntax
and superbly sordid
semantics
THEREIN
ah, such golden
reflections on the ills
of democracy Mr Cliff
I wonder what heightened
state of political consciouness
making
you kin
to Plato, produced
such
desire for curation, left
us with
so much to mull over
State of beauty in
all its golden
reflection
ruled and voted for
by the very best, like
your good self
hearts of solid, pure
high caste iron
brain
of shiny tin
(all such philosophical
mumblings, rumblings,
perfect expression
of the truth
therein)
TODAY
today, no cheap
linguistic tricks
I promise
such as
comic wordplay involving
crude pun, your
basic
obvious homonym
such as
poor Gareth, so
on the
wrong side
of history,
losing
intellectual footing
tumbling
off a cliff
in his desperate intervention
to save the State
by savaging democracy
anything to distract
from the patently
racial
sleight of hand
AH, YES, GARETH
Ah yes Gareth
is, this, not a case
of who will
guard guardians (custodes
custodet ipse)
or that old
joke against the Reich
involving bicycle riders
and Jews
we see
how neatly education,
class and
wealth translate
into realms political as
more insidious
species of liar
as the world clamours
for democracy in the face
of every species of
fascism
I confess to be less
than entertained as your
stale brethren
by the puttering
posturings
of your pithy little pen.
JIMA TRUMP
Iwo Jima Trump
planting the stars
and stripes
on closest thing
on Greenland
vaguely
resembling Mt Suribachi
garnering Peace Prize, Medal
of Valour, and
Purple Heart
in one
fell swoop
Vance and Rubio
there
to reload him
feed
him ammunition
Donald J D-
day overlord
of glory
MAGA disciples’ delight so
ecstatically high
all of them
self-
pleasuring themselves
everywhere,
the sexy swine
hot jizz melting
the ice sheath, turning
this arctic island
basically
as sweaty tropical a paradise
as Mar-a- Lago
O AMANDA
Oh Amanda,
I have you
in twenty
twenty hindsight
gone
totally
retrospective
just to
see
just how
badly you
recited us
how much not
just off key
off track
but mistaking
the climate
leading us off
in the wrong
direction
not climbing
the hill but
on death
descent down
the mountain
you there inspiring us
with hope, false hope
stuff
of bad ideology
in your sun yellow dress
beautifully assured
and
battling down
those slopes it was
all ice,
all winter, death
by exclusion, excision,
by bullets
through
the side
window at
point blank range
and the house
on the hilk with
its shining city
hoisting
an old hated, feared flag,
as bulldozers knock
down
and everything gets
restructured
need space for
the ritz whilst
homeless
go hungry
ghouls at the ball, macabre
how much space
they need
to dance and
twirl
and plot human structure
should have been
severe on yourself before
flaunting your
skills
before us
Miss Gorman,
should have checked
your subtext for
masquerade
and so
why should we climb
that hill
since we can buy one
elsewhere
greener, cheaper
take one out there
for ourselves
we write good poetry,
exceptional lines really
that
nothing
can compare with
the sun setting on that hill,
your hill
suddenly
I smell abyss
and feel the slippery slide
poems 2 die for